Say your prayers, Mutt
by Lynnie Kleriker
Summary: Jacob/Edward. Smut;; Slashfic;; They were the other's drug, intoxicating, and almost sure to kill.


**AN: So my friend asked me to write her a Twilight story for her birthday. Now, ignoring the fact that I couldn't even make it through the book, she still persisted. This happens to be the monster that came out of it.**

**The specific request was "A twilight story where Edward rapes Jacob" but I don't like non-con, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get inspired for a story I never read and I already had /this/ inspiration (which was /supposed/ to be a Shinon/Naesala from Fire Emblem, but oh well) so I decided to use it.**

**Enjoy, and excuse OOCness, because quite frankly, I never even read Twilight, or saw the movie.**

**Warnings: Slash, OOCness, dub-conish**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight**

**Happy early-birthday Emilie.**

It started as a release, a way to take out anger on the other, but every morning after they woke up hating the other more than before.

Neither was quite sure why they came back again and again. It was a constant cycle of self-sabotage.

"Back again, mutt?" The bitter tone always came in the exact same way. The other hated it, and yet, he craved it all the same.

At the point the other would walk over and crash his lips onto the other man's. It was never a gentle, calm, romantic kiss. No, it was a lust-filled kiss. The first one shoving his tongue into the other's mouth, the other gripping at the taller one's back and digging his nails in as far as they would go, scraping long lines down, almost always ensuring future scars.

They'd get bored of kissing, and the first would slam the second onto the ground, pinning his wrists above his head and moving towards his neck. The taller one would rarely leave even a single piece of skin unscarred, littering it with bites and hickies as the other would be left writhing in pleasure.

The shorter one would stand up after a little bit, "Strip," he would always command, using the same bitter tone as always. The younger would then slowly begin removing his clothing before the elder got tired and ripped the rest off, gazing upon the other man in his naked glory before dropping more than a few derogatory comments.

The prep would begin after that. The younger was given the same two options every time. 'Lube or fingers?' he would ask, and the younger man would alternate between the two options.

Of course, the elder man was never nice enough to fully prep the younger. It made it all the better, in his opinion at least. He found blood made the best lube, in the end, and it made it all the more satisfying to know how much he'd hurt the other.

The dominant one would flip the younger onto his stomach at that point. It tended to be the same position, ass in the air, face pressed to the ground. It was almost as if not seeing the other's face would convince him that he wasn't fucking someone he despised.

He'd slide down his own pants at that point and grip the other's hips, sometimes hard enough to leave bruises. There wasn't any dignity from the act, and there certainly wasn't any love.

"You ready?" He'd ask, but it was a hypothetical question. The elder one didn't really care if the younger was ready, and wouldn't wait for an answer. Rather, he'd enter with one quick, deep thrust.

The pace never started slow. In fact, it never was slow at any point. Bruises of handprints would cover the submissive one from head to toe, just to be healed in a couple of minutes. This, of course, never ceased to frustrate the dominant one, and he quickly ensured those marks were back again quickly.

The submissive one would yell out insults throughout the whole process, "Leech", "Blood-sucker", "Whore", while the dominant would tug his hair back, dig his nails into the submissive one's skin.

"If you don't shut up, I'll kill you."

It wasn't as if the dominant one got out unscathed. In fact, often times he would be worse off in the end than the submissive. Although the dominant couldn't bruise, nor bleed, it was still satisfying to see his flesh ripped up in various places.

They wouldn't last too long in their positions. Something about their position, their situation, the younger's vulnerability in this state, as well as the elder's dominance, seemed to trigger something inside the other. A hidden passion from within, possibly.

Once the dominant came, their 'love making' was over. He wouldn't care if the other had come or not, leaving the younger to jerk himself off in the end. It was selfish, in a way. Then again, the entire process was selfish. It was a sick way to get pleasure, nothing more.

After they both recovered from their orgasms, the fighting would begin. They'd nearly kill the other, screaming insults back and forward about anything and everything. It was a wonder no one had discovered them yet.

The scent would soon become unbearable, and the thoughts of what'd they'd done would return to them. They'd both get dressed, ashamed, and refuse to look at the other. It wasn't too uncommon for one or the other to throw up, even. They were both so disgusted by their own actions, and yet, they couldn't stop themselves. It was intoxicating, like a drug.

"Goodbye, Jacob."

"Goodbye, Edward."

They'd both turn around, neither one intending to return the next night, and yet, they always would without fail.

They were the other's drug, intoxicating, and almost sure to kill in the end.


End file.
